A minute from now she'll recount the seconds.
She'll rewind like a clock,
Clad in her padding nearly the color of burnt orange
To see two bodies collide--
Accelerate to the exact point on the field,
Watch the opposing player drive the ball
In her mint-green kilt,
And follow its path the same way an eagle takes flight.

She'll know at that very instant, at its apex,
That the centrifugal force will far outweigh
Her athletic skill:
The sweat of each August day,
The double sessions of practice--
All of her training runs on the back roads.